name?”
The girl gave a tiny nod.
“I’ll get you something to eat, Nell.”
Eve left the candle on a table and slowly backed out of the laundry room. It took her several minutes to feel her way into the kitchen. Once there, she lit the candle on the mantel and got what she wanted from the pantry. When she returned to the laundry, the girl had gone, and so had the clothes she’d set out for her. The door to the side of the wooden tubs was ajar. Eve pushed it open a fraction and saw that it was the door to the coal cellar.
So that’s how the girl had got in. She’d taken refuge in the cellar and had been drawn to the laundry by the heat from the boiler.
Eve closed the door and was on the point of locking it when she paused. If the girl screwed up her courage to enter the house so that she could warm herself at the boiler, what harm was in that? She wasn’t dangerous. Nothing could convince Eve that the girl was dangerous. She was like a stray dog that had been abused by its master. The keepers at Bedlam had done this to her.
Dexter poked his nose into her palm. “I’m not angry at your friend,” she told him. “I’m angry at the world in general.” She let out a long breath. “Let’s give her time to get away. We can always go out later.”
They padded back upstairs. Eve went straight to the window and looked out. Nothing moved except the branches of the trees as the wind rustled through their leaves.
Chapter Seven
The gown Eve wore for the outing to Vauxhall Gardens was on loan from Lady Valmede, who had bought it for her trousseau to wear to the opera. It was an appliqued red satin with a small padded bustle and was so low across the bosom that Eve had unfurled her fan and positioned it to preserve her modesty. Her hair was piled high and powdered; a beauty patch was glued to her cheek. She knew she had never looked lovelier, but she had never felt so uncomfortable, either. Her stays were killing her! A laugh, a cough would burst her strings, and she couldn’t sit down without squirming. She didn’t understand why women had ever put up with it.
Oh yes, she did. She wondered what Ash Denison would think when he saw her decked out in crimson satin.
She wasn’t playing fair. Lydia had wanted this particular gown, too, but Eve had talked her out of it. Crimson satin, she’d said, made Lydia look older, so Lydia had reluctantly given up her claims in favor of a gold brocade. And very nice she looked in it, too.
But gold brocade could not compare to crimson satin. The dress made Eve feel liberated, bold, desirable, just like the heroines in her books.
Just like the Eve in her dreams.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe her dream man knew a thing or two. Just to test her theory, she’d rewritten the first two chapters of her story, making the villain, with a few adjustments, the hero of the piece. The result was electrifying. Her poor, capable heroine had her work cut out for her just to tame the beast. She didn’t know what would happen next, because her characters seemed to have developed a will of their own. If the dialogue got any hotter, the pages would catch fire.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Anna Contini, gesturing with one hand.
Eve dragged her thoughts from Ash and looked out on the scene. “Beautiful,” she agreed.
It was dark now, and the gardens looked as though they’d been plucked from a fairy tale. The lights from thousands of lamps shimmered as far as the eye could see—in the supper boxes, in the rotunda where the dancing took place, and along the tree-lined avenues and walks. To complete the fantasy, the strains of a stately minuet floated on the air.
Lady Valmede’s party was scattered among several supper boxes. It was a large party, and Eve had a hard time remembering so many faces and names. Some had wandered off to take in the sights. Those in the boxes watched the continuous flow of people or helped themselves to the wine and refreshments
The girl gave a tiny nod.
“I’ll get you something to eat, Nell.”
Eve left the candle on a table and slowly backed out of the laundry room. It took her several minutes to feel her way into the kitchen. Once there, she lit the candle on the mantel and got what she wanted from the pantry. When she returned to the laundry, the girl had gone, and so had the clothes she’d set out for her. The door to the side of the wooden tubs was ajar. Eve pushed it open a fraction and saw that it was the door to the coal cellar.
So that’s how the girl had got in. She’d taken refuge in the cellar and had been drawn to the laundry by the heat from the boiler.
Eve closed the door and was on the point of locking it when she paused. If the girl screwed up her courage to enter the house so that she could warm herself at the boiler, what harm was in that? She wasn’t dangerous. Nothing could convince Eve that the girl was dangerous. She was like a stray dog that had been abused by its master. The keepers at Bedlam had done this to her.
Dexter poked his nose into her palm. “I’m not angry at your friend,” she told him. “I’m angry at the world in general.” She let out a long breath. “Let’s give her time to get away. We can always go out later.”
They padded back upstairs. Eve went straight to the window and looked out. Nothing moved except the branches of the trees as the wind rustled through their leaves.
Chapter Seven
The gown Eve wore for the outing to Vauxhall Gardens was on loan from Lady Valmede, who had bought it for her trousseau to wear to the opera. It was an appliqued red satin with a small padded bustle and was so low across the bosom that Eve had unfurled her fan and positioned it to preserve her modesty. Her hair was piled high and powdered; a beauty patch was glued to her cheek. She knew she had never looked lovelier, but she had never felt so uncomfortable, either. Her stays were killing her! A laugh, a cough would burst her strings, and she couldn’t sit down without squirming. She didn’t understand why women had ever put up with it.
Oh yes, she did. She wondered what Ash Denison would think when he saw her decked out in crimson satin.
She wasn’t playing fair. Lydia had wanted this particular gown, too, but Eve had talked her out of it. Crimson satin, she’d said, made Lydia look older, so Lydia had reluctantly given up her claims in favor of a gold brocade. And very nice she looked in it, too.
But gold brocade could not compare to crimson satin. The dress made Eve feel liberated, bold, desirable, just like the heroines in her books.
Just like the Eve in her dreams.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Maybe her dream man knew a thing or two. Just to test her theory, she’d rewritten the first two chapters of her story, making the villain, with a few adjustments, the hero of the piece. The result was electrifying. Her poor, capable heroine had her work cut out for her just to tame the beast. She didn’t know what would happen next, because her characters seemed to have developed a will of their own. If the dialogue got any hotter, the pages would catch fire.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Anna Contini, gesturing with one hand.
Eve dragged her thoughts from Ash and looked out on the scene. “Beautiful,” she agreed.
It was dark now, and the gardens looked as though they’d been plucked from a fairy tale. The lights from thousands of lamps shimmered as far as the eye could see—in the supper boxes, in the rotunda where the dancing took place, and along the tree-lined avenues and walks. To complete the fantasy, the strains of a stately minuet floated on the air.
Lady Valmede’s party was scattered among several supper boxes. It was a large party, and Eve had a hard time remembering so many faces and names. Some had wandered off to take in the sights. Those in the boxes watched the continuous flow of people or helped themselves to the wine and refreshments
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